Ford, Jessie

by Remember Me Love

  "In this light?"

  "Ordinarily, we wouldn't have risked it, but we're pressed for time. We're leaving tomorrow, remember?"

  "I haven't forgotten." She leaned against him, holding him fast, suddenly more in need of comfort than caressing. "You really gave me an awful fright, you know."

  "Sorry," he said, lifting her, kissing her throat, licking her breasts as she rode him. She held him, moving her body fiercely against him. "Aaron, Aaron," she soon called. "Now, Aaron." And they clung together in mutual elation.

  They held each other joyfully for several minutes more, then separated to swim side by side in the crystal bay, soothed and rejuvenated. Then he touched her and brought her with him onto the sand. He wound her cloak around them and drew her close to him to share their warmth.

  "You owe me one, Louisa," he said as he savored the feel of her body against him.

  "What do you mean?"

  He opened her cloak, spreading it on the sand. ''You slipped out of my arms here on the beach one afternoon, and, before we leave, I think you ought to settle your debts."

  "Gladly!" she replied touching him, making his body yearn for hers again.

  "Why can't I get enough of you, Louisa?"

  "I don't want you ever to have your fill. I want you always to be a little hungry."

  "But must I always be starving?" he laughed.

  "Good," she said, her mouth wet on him, tasting the slight saltiness of his skin.

  "Ah, Louisa," he groaned while she stroked and teased. "You think you have me in the palm of your hand."

  "I do now, don't I?" she laughed.

  "Not for long," he laughed, and grabbed her roughly. He rolled over onto her, trapping her beneath him, pinning her hands over her head with one of his. He kissed her, taking her breath away. Then with his free hand, he slowly teased her flesh until she cried out, begging him to finish, arching her body uncontrollably toward him, her breath forced out of her involuntarily in little gasps. The duration of her joy surpassed what she'd known before, and soon he came into her and filled her with his own rejoicing.

  Afterward, they were quiet for some time as they rested pleasurably together. "In a way that was nearly a kind of torture, Aaron," she said. "I felt as if you might never let me go!"

  "I never want to let you go, Louisa," he answered, lying against her. Then he raised himself and took her chin in his hand, hurting her in his intensity. "But I cannot love you and you must not love me. Not now. Do you understand? We can make each other no promises."

  "I understand only too well, Aaron," she said quietly to his fierceness. "Have you forgotten what you say you know of me? I'm an authority on broken promises. That you promise nothing is in its way reassuring." She took the hand that held her face, making him release her, then said gently, "But you cannot forbid me to love you. Do you understand?" she asked, kissing his hand as she held it.

  "Yes," he said, smiling as he relaxed against her. When they were dressed, they embraced again, each filled with what they believed was a new understanding of the other, then walked the distance to the house in comforting silence.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  BEFORE they reached the steps of the house, Louisa touched Aaron's arm to stop him. "Wait, Aaron. Before we go away, there is one thing I must do."

  "What is that, Louisa?"

  "I have one farewell to make before we leave."

  "Yes?"

  "Please, take me to his grave," she whispered, looking at him, drawing him into her moonlit eyes.

  "Why, Louisa?" his question as soft as her plea.

  She hesitated. "Oh, Aaron, I don't know why. I only know I can't leave here until I go to him." Her voice was quiet, but urgent, pleading. "I've asked so little of you in all of this. Please, just trust me. I must do this one last thing before we go."

  "All right. If it will ease your mind. He's buried a little east of here, on property owned by Dobson. We can ride there now, if you like."

  They remained at the house only long enough to get horses and for Louisa to dress for riding. She hastily pinned up her hair and tied a dark bandanna around her head. This time she dressed more appropriately, wearing a riding skirt and boots. She met Aaron at the door, the amethysts of the rosary hung around her neck glistening in the moonlight. "Slip that inside your shirtwaist," he motioned, "we don't want to attract attention if we're noticed on the road."

  She obeyed and they rode out swiftly, traveling easily in the light. They wound their way through the thick, low-growing shrubs, following the river along its north bank. They traveled for an hour, then headed due north. There was no one on the Dobson property, but Aaron led her directly to an immense and ancient oak tree, stopping his horse abruptly. He dismounted and assisted her. "You are standing beside his grave, now. There is nothing to see, the ground was carefully prepared so that it would go unnoticed."

  Louisa gave him the horse's reins, then lifted the rosary over her head and knelt quietly. Aaron walked the horses a short distance away and tethered them, then stood and watched her pray in the silent night, wondering what comfort she found in this act, a question even she could not answer. He did not begrudge her her prayers, or the gesture of farewell, though it was inconvenient on this last night of preparation. He simply failed to comprehend her faith, in view of all her grief, and if it was not faith, then the empty gesture. "How could anyone, most of all Louisa, trust in God?" he wondered.

  Louisa stood, then went to Aaron and put her arms around him. "Thank you," she said, hugging him gratefully. Then she mounted her horse and turned south again without another word or a glance back.

  As they passed by the Dobson house, there was a light shining and Aaron halted, Louisa quickly doing the same. "As long as we're here, I want to talk with him," he said, leading the horses toward the house.

  Luther Dobson opened his door. "Who is it?"

  "Hudson."

  "I didn't expect to see you, but come inside. Who's with you?" He squinted in the darkness. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson."

  "We've been paying our respects to the oak tree," Aaron motioned.

  "I see―of course. Come inside, Mrs. Hudson. Excuse the clutter. I'm rarely here. Usually live in town." The house was adobe, built soundly, but it obviously hadn't been lived in regularly for a good while. The inside looked more like a storehouse than a dwelling. "Just brought out more supplies. Jackson has a good shipment this time and there's to be more the end of the week. If it keeps up, they'll be able to supply a formidable army.'" He motioned to the stacks of ammunition, rifles, and other provisions. "I hope Washington has accurate information regarding the scale of this operation or we're wasting our time."

  "The information I have seems to coincide with whatever I've been able to verify on my own," Aaron responded. "There must be nearly thirty thousand sympathizers and with sufficient leadership and arms, this part of the country will easily fall into the South's camp. The only real uncertainty is how much time we have. Who is our contact in Easton's household?"

  "Samuel Davis, free Negro servant in Easton's employ. Damnedest situation. Easton's the biggest slave advocate around. I guess Davis plays it his way for his own amusement, hiring out for high wages and hoping eventually to put the final screws to Easton." He shifted his weight and looked sideways at Louisa.

  "Easton? Easton?" she mused. "Not William Easton?"

  "Yes."

  "Of Richmond?"

  "Yes."

  "My God, I know him!" she stared.

  "Yes, you do! And a lot more I haven't had time to tell you."

  "What's his role in all this, Aar―Marshall?"

  "William Easton is to be the President of the Pacific States Republic."

  "I knew him for a short while," commented Louisa, unable to hide her astonishment. "He's clever and dangerous, and a bit demented in my estimation."

  "Precisely." Aaron turned to Dobson. "We'll see you tomorrow?" he asked. "Has the courier come in?"

  "Yes, he's waiting for you. I was surpris
ed to see you tonight."

  "Something unexpected came up," he said, smiling broadly at Louisa. "I'll take the señora on, and then get the pouch."

  "Good night, Mrs. Hudson, I'm glad to see you so well."

  "Good night, Luther. Thank you."

  Dobson watched them ride into the night, and hoped their masquerade would go unchallenged.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  WILLIAM Easton looked over the peninsula as it stretched south from his windows. The grand house of stone, redwood, and leaded glass looked as natural in the heavily wooded setting as anything man could make. He would regret the necessity of leaving this place when his schemes were realized, but the quest for power overrode any feeling he had for Crane's Nest. Hudson's arrival signals their full commitment to the Republic, he thought, satisfied with the prospects he saw for himself. Soon, he expected to realize ambitions most men never dared to dream. He had dreamed from unlikely places and origins, singlemindedly certain of his destiny, though its actual form was unclear until recently, when he met Simon Hudson, Franklin Carson, and Peter Melville.

  He had been born to zealous, Bible-beating parents. His father was an overworked merchant; his mother an ambitious woman whose aspirations surpassed her husband's abilities and her own strength. William was the last of four children, by far the brightest, by far the most overwhelmed by his mother's illnesses and dissatisfactions, and by his father's torturous retreat into alcohol. As the years wore on, James Easton increasingly hated life and himself, despising his ability to take his own sermonizing to heart; committed to seeing that his children would "enter the Kingdom of God" even if they passed through those gates with multiple bruises, testimony to their submission. William sought his mother's protection early on, but Marta offered comfort after the fact, never questioning James's authority to oversee his children's access to God.

  William could now look back on the beatings philosophically, "One could say they fostered my destiny." He believed he would soon realize a kingdom of sorts, but "better yet, a kingdom on this earth where I wield the power, control the destinies, bow the heads." It was a simple self-deception, common among inflated puppets who come to prominence, believing their success is of their own making.

  The only area where William seemed to gain his father's approbation was in his studies. He was a quick and gifted student, soon surpassing his teachers. James Easton's fortune was small, but he was able to send his son on to school, eventually to the university. His ambition was for William to be ordained, a mission never realized before he died, nor after, when William acknowledged he had no intention of pursuing "God's work." His mother was not disappointed and she encouraged him to pursue his interest in law.

  She was less enchanted by his attraction for Anna Clarkson, and, while she was alive, Marta was unalterably opposed even to William's platonic pursuit of the young woman. Anna Clarkson . . . reflected William. He could only wonder how different his life would have been if their relationship had come to anything. A son's attraction for Anna Clarkson might have been approved by most mothers, except she was lame, and sometimes quite disabled. William met her through a fellow law student, a cousin of Anna's. She came from a prominent family and would never have seriously encouraged William as a suitor had she not been incapacitated. She was pretty and bright and charming, but in reality, a pariah by virtue of her infirmity. In his youth, William saw her as a star in a constellation he would not have aimed for. He knew he would never have caught her eye if she were not an outcast. Nor would she have appealed to him, had she been whole, for he sensed he did not deserve anything that was not in some way deformed, which was the way he saw himself. He was small of stature, and very slight, almost too thin. Now, he would be described as intense, but when he was younger, his intensity made him odd. He was not one immediately to command the respect of those around him, although those with whom he mingled came to respect his intelligence, if not concur with his philosophical viewpoint. He was not very strong physically, nor athletic, but he respected strength, or at least its manifestations. He made himself a proficient marksman to compensate for his self-acknowledged deficiencies and he often carried a gun, usually concealed, because it gave him a sense of power and worth.

  It could not be denied that William was brilliant and shrewd, but when younger he was far too rabid. He favored the law, not out of a sense of justice, but for its more lucrative considerations, and perhaps even for its opportunity to inflict abuse on those at its mercy. Today, he might appear austere but elegant, for he had acquired manners to suit the nature of his ambitions. Flattery, patient civility, polite attentiveness were added to his politically keen sense of the moment. As a student, he was a fanatic, hatefilled and angry. Remarkably, Anna softened him with her innate gentleness, which flowed over everyone. "I can thank her for that," he reminisced, "otherwise I would have destroyed myself before long." But even with her help, William was unpopular in his profession, unable to keep clients, and when Marta Easton died, William's inclination to proceed with the law disappeared. He had hoped to marry Anna, but her family forbade it, as much because of his lack of social standing as for his personality, or for considerations of her health.

  William was eloquent though caustic, and a loquacious nature fostered by courtroom battles predisposed him to politics and to his next occupation. By the time the law profession soured on him, he had found a supporter in Amos Freeland, a journalist and zealot who welcomed William to his camp. When Anna died of pneumonia after a long incapacitating illness, William sank into his newfound career. Under Freeland's tutelage, William developed a gift for adroit, remarkably popular editorials which brought him unfamiliar notoriety. He began to circulate among people whose fortunes he could enhance by virtue of espousing their opinions and gaining public approval for them.

  To his astonishment, he became a favorite of the rich, courted and cajoled. He was grateful, solicitous, and useful. He was rewarded monetarily, and even attained a satisfying amount of local prestige. The horizon opened for William, and he sailed off into it, expanding his interests, indulging his whims. Eventually, he came under the patronage of Justin Boyd, who rounded out his education in all matters, grooming him for whatever service suited Justin's varying disposition.

  Louisa was not aware of William's lengthy relationship with her father. She was aware the men were acquainted, but not of the nature or the extent of their association, or that he was informed about her in intimate detail. William now looked forward to seeing Louisa again, "perhaps of knowing, at first hand of her reputed charms."

  Chapter Forty

  LOUISA had no way of knowing what reception awaited them in Monterey as she stood watching the last of their luggage being taken aboard the barkentine Isabella. Emotionally, she had left her home and her child as if she were returning very soon, perhaps the next day. She stood at the bow of the ship watching the final preparations for sailing, waiting for Aaron to join her for the weighing of the anchor.

  When the Isabella headed gracefully around the lighthouse point, Aaron stood behind her with his arms holding her fast against him, his mouth warm against her ear. Louisa watched the town and its cluster of dwellings recede into the landscape, feeling quite detached. The sea breeze was crisp on her face and she let her hair fly freely into the wind while they watched the barkentine tack north past the small compound above the beach. "Now, it begins, Louisa," Aaron whispered to her, kissing her throat gently as she nestled for a moment in his warmth.

  But soon his attention riveted to the ship, and she caught his excitement as he made himself at home among the other seamen responding to orders from the captain. He seemed exhilarated to be at sea, and she smiled at the pleasure he seemed to have aloft. He was agile and catlike, which only slightly reassured her as she watched him high above her in the sails.

  "Don't you miss this life?" she asked when he came down. "I watched you and you seem to belong aboard a ship, there are so many things I've not asked you, Aar―Marshall."

 
"There's a lot you have to learn about me, Louisa. First of all, I'll break your neck if you call me anything but Marshall, here on out!" he whispered harshly, sounding as if he meant it.

  She looked at him sharply, and he softened toward her. "I love being at sea," he continued. "It's a vigorous, challenging life, but unless you have command, it can be a murderous existence, and most of what I saw was solitary and brutal. Yet, only chance brings me here. Right now, I'd be sailing my own ship, if I didn't have an obligation I can't avoid."

  "How did you ever get involved? The last I heard, you were in Europe."

  "It's too long a story to tell. I've other things to say first. Let's go below."

  They went to their cabin which was small but, like everything else aboard the Isabella, well tended, even comfortable. "If I'd seen nothing but duty like this, I'd never have left the Vanguard line, Louisa," Aaron remarked as he settled into a chair.

  "Your past has been bitter, too, hasn't it?" she said, touching him softly as she seated herself on the bunk next to him.

  He looked at her, unwilling to trust what she offered. "Past is past, for now, Louisa. We need to concentrate on the present. You said you knew William Easton."

  "Yes," she replied, trying to focus her thoughts on the odd little man Aaron wanted to discuss. "Marshall and I first met him aboard the Emma H. and I saw him, from time to time, in my father's company when I was last in New Orleans. He's very strange, but he's refined and commands attention. I suppose he'll cut a good figure as the president of a republic."

  "We'll be staying with him in Monterey. . . he's written he's looking forward to seeing you again, and to congratulate us on our marriage. I understand he knew you and Marshall very well."

  "Well enough to recognize you, if anyone does!"

  "What would you say my chances are for escaping recognition?"

  She looked carefully at Aaron. "Extremely good in physical appearance. William had no occasion to know whether or not Marshall had scars of any kind." She paused, smiling slyly. "You're aware of his tastes?"